Dead Gods
by Caleigho Meer
Summary: Yami ponders religion in the modern world


The golden ankn Anzu gave me resembles a cross. Certainly, the symbolism is not lost on me...the ank being the symbol of eternal life, and the cross being the gateway of eternal life for these believers...

Perhaps being considered the embodiment of the gods warps one's perspective of the eternal. To be enfleshed with all the frailty of humanity, and only a small, groping awareness that there is something--or Somebody higher and more mighty than I was an easy admission to make. Of course, I wore the golden crown with all my regal, distant scorn.  
But, for all my pretenses and shields of royal dignity and such, I trembled under the mask of the crown, and I shuddered when I realized for the first time that I was weak, and had no divinity either.

Mayhaps that was a merciful gift. I had seen the most loyal and pure of men crumble into decay and failure-not from their own design, perhaps, but from the lure of power. Indeed, it seems that the more power that one had to pocess, the more corrupted they became. Even I fell to that vicious lure, do you not remember? I sealed my Light's soul in the seal.  
Maybe it was a lapse of judgement, or maybe it was my rage overcoming my reason. That rings rather hollow as an excuse, though.  
As Raphael so astutely pointed out, it was my choice, wasn't it? No matter that I redeemed myself by rescuing Yugi, or that I had sacrificed myself for humanity so long ago.  
Even now, I don't know if that was a noble delusion. Considering the sorry shape of this world, I wonder if it was worth it.  
But, since I was never a god in any sense, I think I am allowed to feel bitter about my fate. 

And now--to see the glory of Egypt's ancient past reduced to this shining sarcophicus in the museam, neatly tucked away behind the case of glass-to see the blank stare from Yugi as I mention Ra, Osiris, Anubis- It gives me pause. It makes me tremble. For if the Eternal Ones can succumb and crumble to the ravages of time, and the supposed faith can fade to old parchment, what is there left that is transendent in this world?  
There is some sense of eternity in these strange times, as divorced as they seem to be from any sense of the spiritual.  
Why else do they pray? With their dizzying array of knowledge, the Internet, books, computers, cell phones...they should not be groping for answers near as much as they do. Anzu told me that faith doesn't always answer the questions, but makes the waiting easier to bare. Watching Anzu tells me it's the only thing that can answer some of the questions.  
In an attempt to educate me in the ways of the Western world, and to introduce me to how they think,  
I was taken to a church by Anzu.

I watched enraptured people singing praises to the God they called Father, and lavish praise on the One they consider His living son, Jesus. It was a moving ceremony, and the kindly looking priest clutched my hand, and gave me a book he told he held eternal life. Eternal life? I had to smirk at that. I was 5000 years old and would not wish my tortured existance on any other person. What sort of soul would actively seek out that sort of punishment?  
Anzu gently took my hand and explained to me that this Jesus had stepped out of His Father's realm to save people from eternal damnation. 

Even the Puzzle would be considered a mercy compared to that cruelty. But to rise from the dead, healed?  
Before my time in the Puzzle, I would have been a scoffer. But, my own existance had been ludicris to the point of impossible.  
but it still did not change the fact that I existed, now, did it?  
I had laid down my own life, with absolutely no means of healing hearts, and very little hope of saving anybody. I could not deliver any up to Paradise, and I cringed at the lie when people prayed to me for deliverance.

I did not understand faith, nor what allure it held-then. But I had watched Anzu when she prayed, and saw her rise with hope, even when it made no sense, and even if she was not certain of the answer.

But, from the dying Christians I had seen, those who had it seemed to welcome their death as if they were finally going home. Considering they believed they were going to heaven, I can see why they would be pleased.

Vaguely, I recalled the Hebrew slaves, that toiled in the shadows of the Pyramids, under the hand of a cruel Pharoah I remembered their songs of devotion to the one they called "Yah-whey" a great and powerful God they considered their Father and deliverer. The idea of a single God being so involved with the mortal spawn on earth was scoffed at.  
People who sang His praise were often beaten, until the plagues came.

Whether it was a yielding to common sense, or a genuine fear of the unknown God, mattered little. To witness such raw power and anger striking my country, and then to have such Divinity making itself known...and then watch my own king foolishly shake his fist in defiance, and at the cost of a few thousand lives- made me a believer in some sense. No, maybe not a believer, but a genuine seeker-  
Certainly I respected the faith of the Hebrews, even if I did not understand it at the time. But, if it were to be understood, then we certainly would have no need for faith, now, would we? 


End file.
